


Uncompleted

by slof



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Crying, M/M, MCD, Memories, Photographs, Tears, implied matsuhana, sorry iwaizumi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27358210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slof/pseuds/slof
Summary: Flipping through the pages of memories
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14
Collections: Haikyuu Angst Week 2020





	Uncompleted

**Author's Note:**

> Photographs // “I can't lose this too.”

The locker room felt cold despite the sweat that was trickling down the side of Tooru’s face. He should’ve felt hot; overheated; dizzy; nauseous, but he didn’t. Every time that he was left the last one in the locker room, he couldn’t help but feel cold. It felt so empty. Too empty. He was missing something; he was missing someone.

Tooru turned from his locker and looked down at his bag that sat open on the bench. He noticed the jersey in there from their last game the day before. It had been a long one, but it felt as if it ended quickly after Tooru made a mistake and set to the wrong person.

It wasn’t even that he set to someone who was there. The mistake wasn’t something that could be fixed by a wing spiker or an outside hitter who happened to be ready. That wasn’t saying that it was a bad set either. Tooru would’ve never given Him a bad set. He’d get cursed out if he did.

It was that name that he shouted. Everyone was caught off guard by it, including the team on the other side of the net that let their attention from the ball wander to the setter. Tooru’s eyes widened in realization, and he stopped in his tracks. As he heard the ball hit the floor, his throat went dry. His feet were still in the placement from when he set the ball; his hands were still in the air from when they sent the missing ace’s target to the other side of the court. Slowly, he lowered his hands and stared down at them. They glistened with sweat, and now, they were shaking. 

If the one that he had set to had been there. 

But he wasn’t. Tooru had to move on. 

  
  


Tooru ignored the forgotten jersey from the game before though that didn’t mean that he was thinking about how much of a regret leaving it in there was. The odor smell coming from the jersey that took over the entire bag. 

His ace wouldn’t have forgotten. He would’ve texted him the night of the game.  _ ‘Hey, Oikawa, clean out your bag before you regret it tomorrow at practice.’ _

Here Tooru was, regretting not taking out the jersey the next day after practice.

He reached into the bag and took the jersey out, laying it on the bench beside his bag. Tooru dug through it, looking for the clean shirt he had randomly shoved in there to change back into after he was finished with practice. He pulled out an old white t-shirt, one with the letters  _ “AOBA JOHSAI”  _ printed on the front of it. Something about reading it felt wrong. Like he shouldn’t be wearing it anymore; like he should’ve thrown it out ages ago.

He tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling. It had been a while since he let himself cry, and he wasn’t about to break his streak. Tooru shook his head and pulled the shirt on, smoothing it out as he stared down at the dirty jersey next to his bag.

A small object laid in the bottom of his bag, and he picked it up. He dusted his fingertips over the front of it, staring down at the photo on the cover that he had slipped into the flipbook. With a shuddered breath, he moved his thumb between the cover and the first page and opened it. 

It hit him right away, looking at the first photo that had taken up the slide of the album. Him and his missing ace. It wasn’t when they had gotten obsessed with volleyball. No, it was way before that. Diapers. The smaller one of the two was the ace. 

He was wearing a diaper in the first photo as a small baby, as was Tooru. They were probably around a year old. The older one pinched Tooru’s nose in the photo, and Tooru was mid-crying when the picture was taken. Tooru sat in his mother’s lap who was laughing, and the other’s mother was scolding her son for hurting him.

Tooru skipped a few pages and flipped. 

It was when they were much older now, far out of the complications of diapers and bibs, pacifiers and runny noses. They were around six years old. This was probably the first photo with a volleyball in it. Young Oikawa Tooru held a ball with both hands high up above his head. He stood with his legs separated and a wide smile on his face. The ace was behind him in the air. Tooru’s mother had captured it at the perfect time when he had jumped in the air to spike it out from between Tooru’s grasp. 

Tooru let out a shuddered breath as he flipped a few more pages. 

This was from Junior high. Tooru was a hundred percent sure about that. He could clearly see the dark blue from the school walls in the background. His ace hung on his shoulder, furrowed eyebrows that didn’t match the breaking smile on his face. He had always tried to act tough. Tooru knew he was, but he also knew that the other had a soft spot as well. The setter was always beat in arm wrestling, races, tickle fights. He had made Tooru’s wrist hurt from being bent back, though the younger one would always get a soft sorry and a small massage where it hurt. 

Tooru sat down on the bench and set the book in his lap. He took a quick minute to breathe, reaching up and wiping at his eyes. Still, he hadn’t cried. Tucking his thumb into a random part of the photo album, Tooru skipped a few more slides.

He landed on a photo from their first year in high school. It made him chuckle a little; it caused a breaking sound in the back of his throat. He almost choked on air as he forced his breathing to return steady. Tooru dragged his fingertips down the shine of the page that cut through his friends’ faces. They all looked so young and so happy. 

He remembered this day as well. It seemed the further he got into the book, the tighter Tooru’s chest got. The memories filled his lungs, stopping him from finding a way to take in air for only a moment before the instinct of breathing came back to him. His three best friends from high school were all hanging on him. They all had bright smiles, shut eyes. It was obvious they were in mid-laugh. They were in their school uniforms and stood out at the front of Aoba Johsai. Gym bags sat at their feet. They were ready for their first tournament, each of them were excited for different things. 

The tallest one stood on the end. Everyone assumed he was the oldest, which was the exact opposite. He was just the baby of the group. His face was so much younger, less tired than it was now. At the time, he had just been excited to be there with people. Finally having a friend group was everything to him.

The second oldest out of all of them was a boy with stupidly dyed, bright pink hair. He was basically tucked underneath the taller one’s arm as he held up a peace sign with Tooru who was pictured next to him. His excitement was drawn toward the snack booths that he was promised would have sweets at. 

Tooru had his arm around the other that held the peace sign with him. They both had the widest grins on their faces out of the four of them. The two always seemed to be able to match energies. Tooru could remember the excited feeling in his gut about the thought of facing new opponents. 

Tooru’s ace was on the other end. It was tallest to shortest -- Tooru realized after he looked at everyone in the photo and chuckled to himself. He was sure the ace wasn’t a fan of that considering he had been the shortest. Tooru could hear the curses in the back of his head as if the ace was there, shouting them at him as Tooru flipped through the photo album. 

But he wasn’t. He wasn’t there.

The ace that year had been excited to gain experience. To get better. 

They had all gotten what they wanted that year, even through the disappointing defeat.

Tooru had to let himself take a break. He lowered the book and grabbed the collar of his shirt. Bringing it up to his face, he wiped the tears that had started to spill without his knowledge. He felt tired. Crying was always tiring.

Crying. He was crying.

It felt good, better than he had expected it to. 

Tooru turned the page once more. Again, he skipped over some.

The four of them again. This time, they were older. Two years older. They were in their third year, or maybe they weren’t. It was a picture from the day of their graduation. The four of them clinging on each other quite literally. The one who had bright pink hair in their first year now had a faded copper brown. He jumped on the youngest one’s back and had his arms wrapped around his neck, his hand weakly holding the cylinder shape of his diploma. Tooru and the ace were the same story. The ace supported Tooru by the legs as he held him up on his back. Tooru had his arms in the air as he held both of their certificates. 

Tooru wanted to throw the book across the locker room, but at the same time, he wanted to hold it and never let go.

  
  


“Iwa--Oikawa.” Tooru quickly looked up to the door. He closed the book but kept his thumb in to hold his spot. His other hand reached up and wiped down his face. “Sorry,” the man at the door apologized quietly.

Tooru gave a weak curve at the corner of his lips and shook his head. The slip up from his teammate hurt more than he thought it would’ve. “You’re fine. What’s up?” Tooru responded with. His teammate held a set of keys on a lanyard, holding them up in the air. 

“You said you were locking up? You forgot the keys.” Tooru’s teammate tossed him the keys from across the room, landing them in his bag. He had always had a good toss. “Don’t stay too long, okay?” Tooru nodded and his teammate left, softly shutting the door behind him.

  
  


Tooru looked back to the album in his lap, and he opened it once again. He flipped a few pages before he landed on another one. 

This page held two photos. The first one made Tooru smile, and a laugh slipped out that turned into a sob. He bit his lip and held his breath as he shut his eyes tightly. His fingers gripped the book, almost tearing the laminated slides from the album. It took him a moment before he could pull himself to open his eyes again. 

The first photo was his copper-brown haired friend from high school holding the camera. He had a peace sign by his face with a wide grin. The other, tallest one was standing behind him. He held one up as well that Tooru was sure the copper brown begged him to put up. A soft smile on his face.

Tooru remembered when he was shown the picture the day it was taken. He cursed out his friend for taking a selfie of himself and the other instead of the picture that was supposed to be taken.

Below that was the photo that Tooru had  _ actually _ wanted that day. A picture of him and his ace, arms on each other as they stood in the train center. Tooru was ready to be sent out that day and leave Japan for the first time. It had been an exciting yet sad day.

Tooru felt something heavy on his shoulder while looking at the photo as if the weight of his arm was still on him. He took another deep breath and flipped a few more pages.

The book almost slipped from his hold. He didn’t want to look at it, but at the same time, his eyes found the page again. Tooru found himself staring. His fingers touched the page and skimmed down it as if he could really feel what was in the photo again. 

Though he couldn’t. It was just a memory.

Four photos fit on the screen. Photos filled with white, and flowers, and happiness; photos compiled with pictured laughter, and family, and a beautiful day. The first two were pictures with him and his best friends. One was serious, the other was a mess that Tooru remembered clear as day. A plate of cake in his face. Tooru laughed softly.

The third picture was of the ceremony. The beautiful setting with the plates of food; the white and the light blue; the sky with the few clouds that made it the perfect day.

The very last photo stopped Tooru’s breathing. He looked so happy in the photo even though it was difficult to see his face. The way that the corner of his lip’s curved as they were pressed against the other one in the photo. His ace.  He wrapped his arms around his neck. Tooru could remember the feeling of being so close to him. The way that the other’s hands held his sides; the way that he remembered how his thumbs rubbed into his hips; the way his touch could completely warm Tooru.

Now without him, Tooru felt cold.

A deep sigh escaped Tooru as he moved to flip the pages again. He landed on nothing.

There were no more photos. 

His breath caught in his chest, and he didn’t let go. He stared at the blank, laminated pages; he stared at the way the lights cast a glare on the transparent slides; he watched as there was a sudden pool that hit the center of the book. 

Tears started to pour down for the first time in a long time. It had been forever since he opened up the old photo album. He slammed it shut, closing the tears in the book without a care. His fingers wrapped around it, and he hugged the book. Tooru let his head hang down as he clamped his eyes shut. He lightly kissed the top of the book before choking back yet another cry. 

It took him a few moments to calm himself down from the long-overdue crying episode. He pulled the book down and stared at the cover again, moving his thumbs back and forth on the front of it. Tooru carefully placed it back in the bottom of his bag and sighed.   
  
  


He looked down at his jersey that sat on the bench. Slowly, he reached out to it and picked it up, turning it to the back. His thumbs rubbed on the fabric of the jersey, and his eyes ran over the words on the back. 

_ ‘Iwaizumi’ _ . 

He bit his lip, his grip getting increasingly tighter on the jersey. Tooru had just calmed down, too, but he couldn’t stop when it went he watched a tear hit the jersey. He pulled the cloth to his face, wiping away the tears with it, but it didn’t seem like it was enough. The spot was already soaked and only filled with more the longer he held it there.

There was a hiccup in the back of Tooru’s throat, and he struggled to get another breath of air. He wanted to hold the jersey forever, wrap his arms around it, never let it go. Though he’d never get past it if he didn’t. 

He leaned over his knees a little, his hands still holding onto the jersey as he pulled on his hair thinking that maybe a little pain would pull him from continuing to break down. Again. It didn’t. Tooru felt himself struggling to find oxygen again, hiccuping, breath hitching again. 

  
  


Tooru froze at the ringing that started. He lifted his head up and looked at his bag. His phone sat in the side pocket, lit up and buzzing. He sighed and pulled it out, wiping the rest of his tears with the jersey before answering the call.

“What?” He asked. Tooru pushed through in a voice he tried to muster some strength into.

_ “You’re still in the locker room, aren’t you?” _

“Don’t worry about it, Makki.”

_ “Shut up. We’re on our way to get you.” _

“‘ _We_ ’,” Tooru repeated under his breath.

_ “Issei and I.” _

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Whatever.” Tooru hung up and sighed, tossing his phone back in his bag. He scratched his wrist and stared up at the ceiling again. It had been a year since he had moved into Takahiro and Issei’s apartment after everything had happened. They forced him to, not wanting the setter to live alone.

Tooru must have been sitting there thinking and blanking out for a while because suddenly the jersey was ripped from him. There were hands on his cheeks before he could blink and a hold that was tilting his face up. 

“Hey, Tooru,” Takahiro said. “What are you doing?”

“I was--” Tooru mumbled, and he stared at the jersey which now sat on the floor alongside the lockers. Takahiro had thrown it. "Thinking.”

“Well, stop doing that. You’re bad at it.” Takahiro looked over his shoulder to the door where Issei stood, leaning against the frame with his hands in his pockets. He pointed his head to the jersey on the ground, and Issei nodded. Takahiro took his hands off Tooru’s cheeks and sighed. 

Issei walked in and picked up the jersey, walking over to set it in Tooru's bag along with his other things. He noticed the photo album in Tooru’s bag and reached it to grab it out.

“No!” Tooru yelled out. He grabbed it from Issei’s hold and snagged it from him. “Please,” he whispered. “I can’t lose this too.” Tooru couldn't stop his voice from breaking when he said it. He hugged the album again and leaned over his lap as a way to guard it against Issei or Takahiro taking it from him. “Please, I need this.”

Takahiro looked over at Issei. He bit his lip, clearly biting back tears in his eyes. The copper brown was always easy to cry, but he promised himself years ago that he wouldn’t. Not in front of Tooru when he was like this. He gave Issei a nod. 

“Alright,” Issei said. “Put it in your bag. Come on,” he added.

Tooru sat up slowly. He stared at the album as he slowly placed it back in his back. His gaze didn’t go to Takahiro or Issei when he pulled his hands back. He just wrapped his arms around himself and put his attention to the tiled floor.

“I’m still an Iwaizumi,” Tooru quietly mumbled under his breath. Takahiro and Issei both paused. They looked at each other for a quick moment, giving each other pity looks instead of giving them to Tooru. Issei sighed and lifted the bag, setting the strap on his shoulder before he put his hand on Tooru’s back. “Though I hate hearing it. I can’t bear it,” Tooru continued. “And I feel so bad because it’s like I’m erasing everything that we worked for and that we were, but it just hurts so damn bad still.”

Takahiro covered his mouth to hide a shudder; Issei clenched his jaw and stared down to the floor. The younger one mustered up the strength to say something after a moment of silence, which the other two were silently grateful for.

“Come on,” Issei said. “Hiro tried to make dinner and his failed attempt is actually pretty funny.”

“Okay, asshole, for one, I think it tastes pretty good,” Takahiro fought back, frowning at Issei. He forced his mood to switch, noticing how Issei tried to push away the painful topic by making fun of Takahiro. 

Takahiro grabbed Tooru by the arm and pulled him up from the benches. “Let’s go.” When Takahiro’s grip slipped from his wrist, Tooru grabbed it. 

“Makki, Mattsun,” he called out. His voice was quiet, it definitely wasn’t the voice of their captain from their years back in high school, though they couldn't remember the last time that it had been. It hadn’t genuinely been like that for a while. 

The two stopped, Issei was already at the door, holding it open while looking at Tooru. Takahiro had glanced down at his wrist which Tooru was still gripping onto then up at him. Tooru wasn’t looking at them. His eyes averted to the floor to where Takahiro had thrown down his jersey, though at least that was put in his bag now, covering over the book of memories. He was glad the jersey was hidden away from his sight. Tooru wasn’t sure if he would be able to say what he was going to if he had the print  _ ‘Iwaizumi’ _ in front of him.

“I’m glad I got to love him while I did.” Tooru let go of Takahiro’s wrist and lifted his hand up. He reached for his ring finger, twisting the ring around that he refused to take off. “I knew what could’ve been instead of not knowing at all. I got my time.” The two were silent in return, which Tooru was glad they were. If they were to give any comment, Tooru was sure he’d break down again.

Takahiro put a hand on Tooru’s cheek and lifted it up to look at him. He gave him a soft, sad smile, and even then, he let a single tear slip down. “Let’s go home, Tooru.”

Tooru bit his lip and nodded.

Though  _ ‘home’ _ ? He couldn’t exactly call it that. Takahiro and Issei were like family, but it wasn’t the same, and all he had now to remind him of  _ ‘home’ _ was the uncompleted photo album that sat at the bottom of his gym bag.

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter @mattsuhana


End file.
